


The Hybrid's Mark

by BosieDouglasWilde



Category: The Originals (TV), The Originals (TV) RPF, The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hunted Vampires, Lesbian Vampires, The Originals AU, Vampire Bites, Vampire Family, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, Van Helsing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-07-31 11:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20114386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BosieDouglasWilde/pseuds/BosieDouglasWilde
Summary: Diana Stoker is looking for new beginnings. New Orleans may be just the place. And her low-life job in a dingy bar can't be too bad, right? It's more interesting than she thinks, especially when she notices the bar is frequented by an intimidating ice-cold blond stranger who seems to have many enemies.Meanwhile, a new development has shaken the vampire community - any vampire can 'mark' their prey, meaning that particular human is safe from all other vampires, but not from the one who marked them. It means being an endless blood supply, and the vampire is always able to track them. The three descendants from the original Abraham van Helsing, the van Helsing sisters, have their hands full with this exciting new curse, provided by an angry witch. It doesn't help that their best friend, Diana Stoker, has decided to move to New Orleans for a new start - and runs into some incredibly powerful and dangerous vampires there. Vampires that may be looking for their own Mark...





	1. 1. New Orleans, New Orleans

_Diana_

New Orleans, New Orleans! The city of new beginnings - I hope. The city of voodoo. I choose to ignore that last bit. My small, cramped apartment waits for me, waiting for me to fill it with my belongings which fit in two faded, battered suitcases. It's not much, but it should be enough. Enough for me. Enough for a fresh start. I remember my grandmother's stories about the city, how much she loved it; the warmth, the celebration, the sun soaked into every resident's skin. I know it's a tacky celebration these days, but I can't deny I'm looking forward to Mardi Gras, too. Jessica, a good friend of mine, bought me the beads already. She didn't like me moving to New Orleans, but she supported me nevertheless. I can't say that much about her sisters - but I don't speak to them as much, anyway. 

It's warm. That kind of pressing, damp heat that makes you sweat in places you've never felt sweat before. I'm not used to it. London was my previous place of residence and it's not exactly known for its warm, sunny weather.

"This is good," I tell myself under my breath. I hope I'm right.

A taxi pulls up in front of me and I smile at the cab driver. He doesn't smile back, but quietly puts my suitcases in the trunk and opens the door for me. I'm not bothered by it too much. London has very few friendly cab drivers. I've been yelled at at least five times, and someone has tried to kidnap me at a certain point. Luckily I know self-defense. Or, well, Jessica taught me. I've never found out how _she_ knew.

"The weather's great, isn't it?" I say chipperly.

No reply. I'm right, though. As we drive away from the airport, I can already feel the car heating up. The windows are open and I see the city slowly zoom by. I don't even mind when we end up in an early-day traffic jam. It gives me a chance to look at my surroundings. I can't wait to drop off my bags, accept my key and go walk around a bit. 

My landlady is waiting for me, anxiously wringing her hands and looking up and down the streets. She's an elderly lady, her whitish grey hair contrasting sharply with her dark skin, and she has kind eyes. As soon as I get out of the car she smiles broadly, showing off her pearly white teeth. She embraces me as soon as I'm close.

"What took you so long?" she says, grinning.

"My plane was delayed. I'm sorry I didn't call you."

She shakes her head. "Don't be, don't be. Let me help you with your bags."

This sets in motion a fifteen-minute up-and-down game of 'no, I'll do it', 'it's really no trouble', 'no, I could never', et cetera, et cetera. We end up both carrying one suitcase. The cab driver stares at us a bit, shakes his head and leaves. My landlady introduces herself as Miss Jean. I decide I like her. She's a colourful person, even without her bright flowery scarves, sunflower yellow dress and rows and rows of long beady necklaces. 

"There you are, there you are. It's not much, but it's clean."

The apartment is even more cramped than it looked on the pictures online. There is one tiny kitchen with a fridge that is hardly big enough for most moderate hotel rooms, a bathroom the size of a public toilet, a small living area with a couch that looks like it has rats in it, and a bedroom that surprisingly does fit a two-person bed, but not much else. Not for the first time in my life I thank myself for my somewhat minimalist lifestyle. 

"Such a lovely accent you have, dear," miss Jean chirps. "England, was it?"

I nod. "London. Born and raised."

"Well, New Orleans is very different, but I think you'll like it." She presses the keys in my hands and embraces me like a caring grandmother, after which she grabs me by the shoulders. "You take care of yourself now. New Orleans is lovely, but it holds many dangers."

"I have pepper spray in my bag."

She laughs. "Well, that won't do much against the supernatural, darling, but I can't deny it's a good precaution."

"The supernatural?"

"Take care, miss Stoker!"

She waves one final time and disappears. The door closes behind her, creaking like a cartoonish horror movie castle gate. The supernatural? Oh, she's worse than Elizabeth and Susanna. They're Jessica's sisters and often give me cryptic warnings about whatever lurks in the shadows of any given city. They didn't want me to move to New Orleans. Their sister and my friend Jessica used to smile apologetically.

"They believe what our ancestor apparently believed," she used to explain. "Abraham van Helsing. So dramatic a book character was based on him."

I know she secretly believes it. But she never talks about it with me - and I don't even know what I'm supposed to _not_ believe in. They never give me specifics. Only... 'darkness', or 'dark things', or generally things that lack illumination. I've given up on talking to them about it. 

Unpacking takes an embarrassingly short amount of time. This is the life of Diana Stoker, and it fits in two suitcases and a carry-on backpack. As soon as I've made some money I should buy some decorations. I bought this apartment furnished, but they are the furnishings of an old woman, and I feel like I've bought a room from my grandmother. Too many doilies and horrible vases. I feel like the dinner table will collapse if I look at it for too long. 

My work consists of working in a bar and free-lance translating. I hope it's enough. Apartments in this city are horribly expensive, and this isn't even a good neighbourhood. I'll be fine - I've managed in the dodgiest places in London. I've had rats in my kitchen so often I started giving them names. All I can do is hope my savings will last long enough for me to build a client base. And a few good tips wouldn't hurt, either.

"This is good," I say once more.

I leave the apartment, hardly fuller than before, and step outside into the glittering sunlight. I smile without meaning to. Well, what can I do? Perhaps I'd better check on the bar I'm supposed to work in. If it turns out to be a showgirls-cigarettes-gambling-den it's good if I know in advance. When I open my phone to use Google Maps I notice Jessica has called me. Missed it. Whoops. I'll call her back tonight, I decide. For now I need to focus on settling properly here. 

The bar is easy to find. It's called _The Tarot Card_ and lies tucked between a dark, dusty voodoo shop and a hookah bar. At least we're in good company? I straighten my back, take a deep breath and hope that I look confident as I step through the ancient wooden door. 

The inside is cleaned than I had anticipated. The walls have been painted a horrible peach orange and golden accents at the top, and everywhere I look are framed tarot cards decorating the walls, the bar and the tables and chairs. A beautiful blonde woman stands behind the bar, cleaning glasses and looking around her in a bored sort of fashion. She is striking, with a strong jaw and piercing greenish eyes. A huge book lies open on the bar in front of her. There are very few clients. In fact, there are only two, and one seems to be the owner.

"Uh, hello."

Great start. The woman looks up and smiles at me. She has a great smile, I decide, open and kind, gentle but a bit smirky at the same time. Her eyes glitter with an evident intelligence I am immediately drawn to.

"Hello. What'll it be?"

"Not so sure." I tentatively sit down. "I guess just a coffee?"

She raises one blonde eyebrow. "You came to this bar just to have a coffee? I'm technically not allowed to say this, but there are tons of other great places I can recommend. Cleaner, too. Specialise in coffee. We have one ancient coffee machine and it tends to break if I try to make a flat white."

I laugh. "Fine. A port, then."

"Classy."

She pours me a port and gives herself a glass of water, probably just to have something to do. "So, what brings you to this bar?"

"I'm starting work here. Tomorrow, or the day after, I can't really remember."

Her eyes light up. "Oh, you must be Diana! I'm Camille."

I offer her my hand. "Nice to meet you."

We shake. Her smile broadens, lighting up the entire room. She's strangely magnetic.

"Good to have another young person here. You just moved? You sound English."

"Oh. Yes. I lived in London before, but I decided I needed a fresh start, so..." I gesture around me. "New Orleans. I'm actually a translator. I studied French."

She nods. "Ah. Well. _Je ne parle pas français._"

I laugh. "That's okay. Very few people speak French in America. So I figured, why not look for work here? I just need this bar job until I have a proper client base. Might turn out to be difficult, too."

"I get you." She taps the book on the bar. "I'm a psychology student. This is just for some extra cash. We can all use some extra cash, can't we?"

"Usually, yes."

She winks and touches her glass to mine. "Well, here's to new beginnings, then. I'm looking forward to working with you, Diana..."

Her sentence trails off into a question. 

"Oh. Stoker. Diana Stoker."

"Stoker? Like the author?"

I sigh and roll my eyes. "Probably a distant relative. I try not to think about it too much. Cheers."

"Cheers."

Eventually the owner comes up and mumbles a welcome. I'm pretty sure he's tipsy already, and it's not even late in the afternoon yet. Still, more and more people slowly come in, and I realise this bar must gain its money from locals and regulars that come find the nearest welcoming pub. Eventually the owner's wife even comes out and she seems much sweeter, though she also gives me cryptic warnings about not going out late at night because of what might crawl through the shadows. I decide not to think about it too much once again. After all, what's the worst that could happen?


	2. 2. The Tarot Card

_Diana_

My first night is a fitful sleep. The apartment's isolation is arguably horrible, and I keep hearing all the cars and motorbikes and drunkards on the street beneath me. I can't imagine what Mardi Gras is going to be like. I start work early in the afternoon so I have a nice, quiet morning, which I spend updating my website and trying to make myself present online so people will be able to find me for translations. I _need_ work. I can't live off an income from a local bar. Well, the least I can do is try.

"Hey, Camille."

She's already there, cleaning the bar apathetically while looking at her psychology book, her lips moving silently as she reads along. I am gifted with a quick smile.

"Hey there. You ready? It's not exactly the crème de la crème that come here, but they're kind enough."

"So ready. I was born ready."

She laughs. "If you think you were born to work in a bar you might need to re-evaluate your perspective on life. Come, I'll get you your apron."

There are about five aprons, each filthier than the next. I pick the one that seems the least dingy and allow Camille to walk me to the bar. She insists on me calling her 'Cammi' and explains quickly but clearly what's expected of me. It's really very simple. Pour drinks and be nice. Make sure people stay, but also make sure that they go in the end or when they're drunk. Keep smiling. Stay polite. 

'It's infuriating sometimes," Cammi says with a sigh, "but our bosses do tend to keep a watchful eye out for any creeps. Not to worry."

She slams her book shut and stuffs it into a simple tote bag she makes appear from behind the bar. 

"You leaving?"

She nods. "Yeah. I was just here to show you the ropes. It took about half an hour, so I'd say that's pretty decent. Do you think you've got it?" 

I nod. 

"If not, our bosses are nearby and my number is on that coaster nailed to the wall behind the bar."

Our bosses are indeed nearby. Snoring over two glasses of bourbon and an abandoned game of cards at the table in the corner. I sigh and ensure Cammi that I'll be fine, that she's free to leave, and that she's done a good job. She tells me I can basically drink what I want as long as it's not alcoholic and then leaves me with a dramatic wave. I keep myself busy cleaning glasses that are already clean and wiping the bar with a dry cloth, since it at least _looks_ like I'm a proper barmaid if I do that, I think.

A young woman walks in after about two hours. She's not my first client, but at least my first interesting client. She is tall and has legs like Marlene Dietrich, if Marlene Dietrich had been black and had had long raven dreads instead of blonde waves. I might have fallen in love with her as soon as I see her. She sits down at the bar and elegantly crosses her legs, smiling at me with grace and poise, and I suddenly feel very clumsy and short.

"Famous Grouse. Straight, please," she says in a smoky, raspy voice.

Damn. 

"Coming right up," I squeak.

While I pour her her drink I notice something. I like observing people - their minimalist movements, the way their eyes shift, a subtle twitch of the mouth, all those little things that betray deeply buried emotions and frustrations. She hides it well, but this woman is nervous. Her eyes scan the bar every now and then. Whom is she waiting for - and why does that person unnerve her without even being here?

"There you go," I say kindly. "Anything else I can help you with?"

She smiles, too quickly for it to be genuine. "No, thank you. That's sweet of you, though."

It falls quiet much too quickly for my taste. I look around, desperate for a topic of conversation. Sometimes people will ask about my accent and my life is made easier, but not this time, it seems. I notice the necklace she is wearing. It's beautiful rose gold shaped like an eye, with a huge green jade forming the iris. Well, it's a striking piece.

"That is such a lovely necklace," I attempt.

She seems flattered. Thank the gods. "Thank you! It's a family piece."

"Oh, that's sweet." I smile. "My family doesn't really have cool jewellery. We have tons of drama to make up for it, though." I extend my hand, praying the palm isn't too sweaty. "Diana Stoker."

"Like the au-"

"Yes, like the author. I have no idea if we're related. I like to think so, but I have zero proof."

She chuckles. "Sorry. You must get asked that question a lot. My name is Ayla."

"Lovely to meet you." We shake hands. "So, are you a local?"

She sips her drink without flinching, something I have never been able to achieve when drinking brown drinks without water or ice, and nods. "Yup. New Orleans, born and raised."

"I just moved."

"I can tell. Nice accent. British."

She doesn't ask - she states it as fact. I decide I like her. Then again that may have something to do with her voice. 

"I generally don't have great experiences with British accents, but you seem nice enough."

Strange comment. I'm not really sure what to respond to that, so I just laugh awkwardly and start polishing glasses again. She unlocks her phone and starts sending messages feverishly. I hope she isn't gossiping about me. Then again, we just met, so why should I care all that much?

The next time the door of _The Tarot Card_ opens, the energy changes almost visibly as soon as the new visitor crosses the threshold. Ayla stiffens, her eyes hardening like a vault closing. My two bosses are suddenly very occupied by their card came and refuse to look up. Most other patrons soften their tone and refuse to look at the man who stepped in. I can't deny he has a strange, somewhat imposing energy, but everybody's reaction does seem somewhat extreme. Perhaps they know something I don't.

He isn't short, but not extremely tall. He is muscular, but not bulky or buff. His lips are full, but not in a Hollywood-botox-way, and his hair is blond, but not sun-bleached or mystically whitish blond; it's just blond. He has beautiful eyes, but I actually prefer Cammi's over his. In many ways he is extremely average and _yet_ there is something about the way all the components work together that make him... beguiling. Magnetic, but unnerving at the same time. His sharp jawline is perfectly offset by his protruding cheekbones, sharp enough to cut glass like a diamond. It gives his face something angular, something... knife-like. His eyes glitter with a poorly hidden sense of power and control, and a thing that is... deeper. That is darker. The hairs on my arm raise up without me wanting them to. What's going on here? He radiates something. Something cold. 

_Dark things lurk in the shadows of New Orleans._

That's ridiculous. He does not seem supernatural or dangerous at all. Well, perhaps a little dangerous. And my landlady and Elizabeth and Susanna, well, they... they probably just talk out of superstition. Still, I decide to be careful.

"Anything to drink for you?" I ask as kindly as possible, with my most regular smile.

His gaze snaps towards me and I immediately feel like both running away and moving closer at the same time. I'm careful not to let that show, though. I've met people like him before. People that live for control over others, and they gain that when they take a dominant position in the conversation. Luckily I'm good with words.

"I haven't seen you here before," he says.

British accent. I briefly look at Ayla and am immediately startled. The way she looks at him... hatred. Pure hatred. Did they date, once, or something? Maybe they had a really bad breakup.

"You couldn't have," I say calmly. "I moved yesterday."

"And you're already working."

"Well, a girl's got to make a living. Which would be made easier," I say as my smile widens, "if you'd like something to drink."

He seems... amused. Well, that's something, at least. He looks a little less murderous.

"A whiskey, then."

"Which one?"

"Surprise me."

I cock my head. "Funny. You don't strike me as a person who likes to be surprised."

He smirks. "I generally don't, love, no. But perhaps coming from you it could be a bit more pleasant."

"I'll see what I can do."

Ayla rolls her eyes and mumbles something. Okay, so they definitely used to date. But now she seems reluctant to even get close to him. As soon as I move away a bit they start hissing frantically, looking ready to tear each other to pieces. So much drama already, and that on my first day. A small, sadistic part of me kind of wants to see them get into a bar fight. As I bring the blond man his whiskey (Black Label with a single block of ice) I catch the tail end of their conversation.

"...already had enough discussions about our territories. You can't keep restricting us like this, Klaus, we have had enough to endure already."

"I'm sure you witches can handle it."

Alright. Well, such an insult seems slightly excessive. Must have been a terrible breakup. And what's this about territories? Oh, shit, what if they're mafia? I hope not. I don't even know if New Orleans has a mafia of some sort. Probably. Every self-respecting city does.

"There you go," I say softly. "Enjoy."

He accepts the glass and our fingers briefly brush - I pull back like an electrical shock was passed between us. His skin is cold as ice. But it's so warm outside - perhaps he had the aircon on in his car? He smiles at me, shortly, but then his face twists into a cold, cruel mask as he turns ti Layla, and their hissing continues. Something feels deeply wrong. I decide to ignore it - it's none of my business, after all, and I really don't want any trouble. So I turn and try to strike up a conversation with someone on the other side of the bar. Tall, completely dressed in black and definitely an alcoholic.

It's only when Layla has stormed out angrily, slamming the door shut behind her like she's trying to bring the building down, that I even dare to turn around. The blond man - Klaus, was it? Sounds German - looks significantly more grumpy than before and is downing his drink. He isn't just angry - he's _seething_. Against my own better judgement I carefully approach him, bottle in hand in case I need an excuse. Or a weapon. 

"Everything okay?"

He says nothing. He just pushes his glass towards me, eyes burning with flickering and deeply-rooted anger and resentment.

"I'll take that as a no."

He scoffs. "You wouldn't understand."

"Well, as a barmaid, it's my job to also play psychologist once in a while." I carefully pour him more whiskey, not bothering with ice this time. "Which means I can either try to understand, or pretend to understand."

A tiny smile appears oh so briefly before vanishing again. An imprint of what could be, the way sea spray in the wind represents the ocean. He downs his whiskey in one go, which could almost be impressive if it wasn't a sign of impending liver-destroying alcoholism. Well, who am I to judge, right? He turns his glass over to indicate he's finished day-drinking for now.

"Perhaps you could play my psychologist another time," he says. "For now I have business to attend to."

"How ominous."

He smiles again, a bit more confident this time. "You have no idea. I'll see you around, miss...?"

"Diana. Uh, Stoker. Relation to the author unknown."

An actual, short laugh escapes his throat this time, and I can't help but almost feeling proud. "Klaus. Mikaelson. Pleasure to meet you, miss Stoker."


	3. 3. Another Encounter

_Diana_

Strange nightmares plague me for three nights before I decide to call Jessica to keep my mind off of things. She's always been good at distracting me, and I need a friend right now. New Orleans is great - but I miss the meaningful connections I had in London. The friends. The knowledge and the ease I had when walking down the streets. Luckily she agrees - the flight will be long, but I can wait for two days. If only she didn't have a thirteen hour transit in Singapore.

Miss Jean knocks on my door quite early after a particularly exhausting night's work at _The Tarot Card_. I must look like hell and my hair still vaguely smells like beer, but she doesn't seem bothered. She is carrying a small wooden bowl in her hand covered by a red dusty cloth in one hand and a steaming mug of what smells like hot chocolate. I can read something like... worry in her eyes. I did remember to pay my rent, right?

"Good morning, miss Jean."

"You look pale, dear. I made hot chocolate for you."

Without waiting on another word she pushes past me and marches towards my tiny dinner table. I moved it towards the window to make sure I got some light in the morning. 

"Have a seat," she says like a businesswoman.

I oblige. In all honesty I'm much too tired to argue. Last night the bar was jam-packed, and I ended up doing most of the work since my boss Jack was too drunk and his wife too absent. 

"You look tired. Drink your chocolate. I have something to discuss with you."

"Is everything okay?"

"Drink your chocolate."

"Right. Thank you for this non-answer."

She gives me a matronly stare. "Allow me to talk, dear. It's important. I've had complaints from your neighbours. Or, I say complaints, but they seem genuinely worried."

"What? Why?"

I haven't even met my neighbours yet. How on earth would they complain? I don't even have a television to play too loudly.

"They say they hear you scream at night."

I nearly choke on my hot chocolate. It's excellent, though it has a strange, poorly concealed herby aftertaste. It's not cinnamon - it's something that doesn't go with chocolate at all. It feels impolite to ask.

"Nightmares?" Miss Jean asks kindly.

Oh. "Yes," I say, relieved. "That must be it. I wish I could say it was because of my extremely exciting and definitely active sex life, but I sleep much too deeply to be able to beguiling to anyone."

She laughs. "Sorry to hear it, dear. But if you're having nightmares I have something that helps."

"Red wine?"

"Better." She uncovers the bowl she'd been carrying. "I specialise in herbs."

Hence the hot chocolate. I wonder if her taste buds work well. 

"Herbs."

"Yes." She pushes me the bowl. It contains something dried, and green, which is generally what herbs look like, but I'd have no idea what it's supposed to be. "Vervain. It helps."

"Against nightmares?"

She drapes the cloth over her free arm and gets up, suddenly giving me quite a penetrating stare. "No. But it will protect you from what might be causing them. Just put that mug in the hallway when you're done, dear. And finish all of it."

She shuts the door behind her and leaves me with a mug of increasingly dodgy-tasting hot chocolate and a bowl of herbs I have absolutely no idea how to use. Do I burn them? And why the mysterious warning? Does nobody in this town just... talk straight? I feel like everyone is in on a secret I know nothing about. With a deep sigh and a curse to whatever gods might be laughing up there I drain my mug and put the bowl in one of my cupboards. I could Google the uses of vervain later. 

That night at work is sleepy. I have my phone with me the entire time so I can make sure I have updates on where Jessica is. Her in-flight internet doesn't work, but perhaps she can find a WiFi hotspot as soon as she lands in Singapore. I can also secretly play games when nobody needs my services - which is a lot. Some action finallt occurs when a familiar blond head of curls walks in and the air shifts again, like it did before. Klaus Mikaelson waltzes through the pub and sits down at a corner table, confident and intimidating, like he owns the place. He just might. He looks like he has money plenty, which makes me wonder why he even bothers coming to such a dingy little pub on the edge of town.

"Evening," I say with a broad smile. "Good to see you again."

A flash of recognition plays around his eyes when he sees me. He mirrors my smile. "Good to see you, too, love. Quiet night?"

"Mind-numbingly boring. What can I get you?"

"Well," he says with a crooked little grin, "I liked your previous surprise. Surprise me again."

With an ill-concealed roll of my eyes I return to the bar and look around. He seems like the type for brown drinks, but then again those wouldn't be a surprise. A surprise means a deviation from the normal - from the expected. Luckily I took a cheap cocktail seminar once. I quickly make the one I have in my mind, an easy one, and return to his table, heart beating ever so slightly faster.

"There you go."

He stares at the crimson drink in front of him. "A cocktail."

"A Bloody Mary." I smile, praying I haven't upset him in any way. Something tells me he's not a kind of person you'd want angry at you. "You can't deny it's a surprising choice. Have you ever had one?"

"Well, in the more literal sense, I have had a Bloody Mary," he says, stirring the cocktail with the green garnish. "But not in a liquid form. Not like this."

"That seems appropriately vague."

To my great relief a little smile appears on his face. "Thank you nonetheless."

"It was made with love," I say dramatically, and then revert my tone back to normal. "If you don't like it you can pick something else on the house. It's the least I can do."

Another client walks in and I have to shift focus for a bit. It's the same man who's been in three nights in a row, though he still looks drunk from yesterday now. When he orders a vodka I water it down significantly and hope he doesn't notice. If he falls asleep in the pub he could be here for ages. As he fumbles for his wallet I carefully sneak a glance at Klaus again. He is tentatively sipping his cocktail, looking less than impressed, and yet he seems more sophisticated than all the people in this pub thrown together. It makes me all the more glad when I can finally walk back to his table. Perhaps an interesting conversation could cheer this night up.

"How's the drink?"

He sighs. "Only just bearable."

"You want a new one?"

"No, that's fine, love. I'm just waiting for someone, anyway."

"Ayla again?"

The question is out before I want it to be. His - their - business is none of _my_ business, and I did promise myself I'd stay out of trouble here. Curiosity did kill the cat, after all.

"Yes," he says calmly, though his eyes cloud over. "This pub is sort of our... neutral ground. We can talk to each other here in peace."

"Ah. Why here?"

He doesn't respond this time. He just darkly looks at the door and sips his cocktail with a bit more ardour this time.

"I'm sorry. It's really none of my concern. Uh... let me know if I can do anything for you."

Luckily Ayla chooses that moment to burst through the door. She looks annoyed, so I quickly move away, back to the bar, and spend the rest of my evening playing around on my phone and occasionally serving a client. Jessica sends me a quick, rather curt text she's landed safely, but doesn't respond from that point on. Strange. Normally she sends me thirteen messages in the span of three seconds. And so the night slowly, slowly crawls by until Jack slurs that he's going to sleep and presses the lock-up key into my hands. Everybody has left. He's probably going to stumble up the stairs to the small apartment above the pub. I'm pretty sure it's where he lives - though it's not where his wife lives.

I'm about to start putting chairs on the tables when I notice one is still occupied. The empty Bloody Mary glass stands in front of him and Klaus grumpily pushes it around on the ancient wood.

"Oh. I hadn't seen you.' I hesitate. "Is everything alright?"

He pushes the glass over with one finger and gets up. Frustration radiates from every fibre of his being. "Not really, no."

"Anything I can do?"

He turns to be, quickly, and studies me in a way I can't say I like very much. Like a predator surveying helpless prey. 

"Perhaps you can, love."

"Do you need a cab?"

I unwillingly take a step back. It's a reflex. To my great shock he starts moving towards me slowly as a response - not really what I wanted. He's not drunk, but... he doesn't seem completely there, either. Is it anger that is blinding him? What the hell happened between Ayla and him? Not eager to find out, I keep moving back as he moves forward. I'm not fully sure what my plan is.

"Klaus, do you need a cab?" I ask again, my voice hardly louder than a mouse's squeak. 

I bump into something. The bar. It's still covered in wet coasters and empty liquor glasses - and it's also blocking my path. This is ridiculous. I shouldn't have to fear anything from him. What can he do? I know _some_ self defense. Enough to get to the pepper spray in my bag. 

"I don't need a taxi, no," he says in a low, dangerous tone. "I'd actually like to take you up on your promise."

He places one hand on either side of me on the bar, like closing a cage, and alarm bells really start to ring now. In any normal situation I should feel body heat, but he seems to be completely cold. I can smell a whiff of his no doubt extremely expensive aftershave. Or perhaps that's what fear smells like and it's coming from me. Could I use one of the glasses on the bar to hit him? They might be too far away.

"Promise?" I breathe.

He brings his face so close to mine I can feel his breath brushing my lips. This is too close, too up in my personal space. My muscles tighten like piano strings.

"You did say," he says softly, "that if I didn't like the drink you chose for me, I could choose another. On the house, yes?"

"Uh, we're closed."

Great answer. It's a miracle I haven't won the damn Nobel Prize for literature. 

"Well, I didn't hear final call," he mumbles, and a cruel smile appears on his face.

Then something strange happens. Black veins start blooming from his eyes down his cheeks, like a strange illness is befalling him in a matter of seconds. His eyes darken all of the sudden. It's what I imagine a demonic possession to look like when it manifests. And when he opens his mouth...

"What the hell?" I sputter.

Two perfectly cinematic fangs have grown. It's hard to believe my eyes, but they look too real and too sharp to be a Halloween store brand. Besides, I didn't see him put them in. But they can't be real. They can't. That would make him a... a vampire of some sort. And that'd be ridiculous. Unless, well, unless he is that 'dark thing in the shadows' people keep warning me about. Was my ancestor right?

I have very little time to ponder it as in a quick, smooth movement he grabs my hair with one hand to pull my head back and snakes his other arm around my waist to pull me closer. I barely have time to scream. And with practiced precision and burning angry eyes he sinks his teeth into my neck. 

It hurts. A lot.

It feels like... like what I imagine your soul being ripped from your body through your spine feels like. My limbs tremble and I fight and struggle, but his body is made of steel, and just as cold. I curse him and try to kick him but it's like kicking a concrete wall, and my head is too occupied with the pain to even consider how ridiculous this all is. Vampires aren't real. They aren't. They can't be. My last name is just a dumb coincidence. It's fake - in your head. _In your head._

When he finally lets me go my legs just give in and I fall back against the bar, earning me an ugly bruise on my spine. He's still too close. I can't get away. Blood drips down from the corners of his mouth. My blood, I realise. Is that why I feel so dizzy? I could just faint any minute, and stay on the sticky disgusting floor all night long. It's like my strength was drained along with my blood. 

"Why," I pant. "Why did you... I never did anything to..." 

His hand closes around the beck of my neck and he pulls he close again. So close our noses almost touch. His eyes are still burning pools of malice and anger, but I see something else, too - pain? Regret? A small, vulnerable part that disappears as his grip tightens and he just keeps staring. Something strange happens. A calm washes over me and I stop trembling and panting all of the sudden. The screaming, panicky part of my brain quietens down a little and I feel ready to... to listen.

"You will go home," he says in a soft, commanding voice. "You will lock up as you normally do. You will bandage your wound and not look at it again until it's healed. And when I let go of you you will forget what you saw and you will forget what I did. What I am. It has been a normal night. Nothing special. A night you can forget."

And then his fingers stop gripping my neck, and everything goes blank.


	4. 4. The Van Helsing Sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the van Helsing sisters come from a previous story of mine! 'Children of van Helsing', on WattPad. This kind of takes place before that whole mess happens. Don't worry, you don't have to have read it in order to get them as characters - I'm just really attached to them. Enjoy!

_Jessica_

"This is risky business," Susanna says for the hundredth time since we left London.

She's my oldest sister, and definitely the fussiest. At least since the death of our parents so, so long ago. Despite being raised by our aunt she's sort of always seen herself as our designated caretaker. It's alright. I love that about her. But I do think that sometimes, and especially now, she is nervous for no reason.

I crane my neck to see if my white flowery suitcase appears on the luggage belt yet. So far no luck. "Come on, Susanna. It's not like we're going there to kill anyone. We come in peace - we have no reason to fight, so no one would attack us."

Elizabeth snorts. "Yeah, and vampires are typically known for their logical decision making."

I glare at her. She's the youngest and so by design the most annoying. "You two didn't have to come, you know. In fact, I asked you not to, like, a thousand times."

"It's not safe to go on your own." Susanna steps forward and quickly pulls het matte black suitcase from the belt. "New Orleans is a hub of the most powerful and dangerous vampires alive. The originals live there. Do you really think-"

I groan. "Christ, Susanna, I'm just visiting a friend. I haven't come as a hunter. I've come as a tourist."

"Well, I've packed my axe," Elizabeth says.

"No, you haven't. You wouldn't have gotten it past customs."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. I've packed my _metaphorical_ axe." 

"We're not fighting anyone."

She leaps forward and finds her Bordeaux red suitcase on the belt. The old thing is covered in stickers from places she's been. "But if someone fights us we're defending ourselves."

"Naturally. But nobody even knows what we look like. Or at least, they shouldn't." I smile at them. "We're the van Helsings, but nobody knows. The names aren't on our passports and our vampiric allies who do know out faces mostly live in England. And everybody who did know the faces to connect to our family name is dead and gone. Permanently."

Susanna sighs. "I'm still worried."

"You're always worried."

"I just don't like this."

"Then go home."

She shakes her head. "No. I'm staying here, with you."

Finally my suitcase appears. I have to nearly jump onto to belt in order to get it out from under what looks like a surfboard. Who brings their surfboard to New Orleans? There can't be any sick waves in the Bayou. 

I turn back to Susanna and Elizabeth. "Diana doesn't even know you two are here. What am I supposed to tell her?"

Elizabeth shrugs. "Don't tell her. We've booked a nice hotel, and you can crash on Diana's couch."

"Fine. We'll go to your hotel, first, then."

Susanna shakes her head and starts walking towards a sign that says _exit_. "We're visiting a church, first. I've looked up which ones have ties with the hunter community. There'll be weapons there."

"Peachy," I mutter, but follow her anyway.

After several more security checks - this country really is paranoid - we finally make it outside to smile at the burning afternoon sun. It's hot here. London was cold and rainy, as always, so I see it as a welcome change. To be honest I'm just glad to be out of London for a while. Since my breakup with my girlfriend Hannah, who I'd been with for almost two years, it's hard to call the city home. I need a holiday. And I've missed Diana. We're close, and when she told me she was moving to this city for a fresh start it gave me more heartache than I would ever admit to her. Besides, New Orleans is dangerous. Though I have to admit, as I look around, that it looks very lovely as well. I wonder which of the women I see are witches. I wonder which of the burly-looking groups of people I see are werewolf clans. I wonder if there are any vampires who have managed to acquire sun-protection rings, and who are wandering the streets now.

Not every vampire is necessarily evil. It's something I've learnt over my many, many years of hunting them. I don't really like my job, but it's one I've been given by fate, and I do recognise the importance of it. Still... slaying vampires isn't a safe job. And it's a lonely one. Most hunters have extreme difficulty establishing long-lasting relationships with people since it's hard to keep that kind of lifestyle hidden. Hannah and Diana are my exceptions, though Hannah did know of what I did at night. What I still do.

"There's a church," Susanna notes.

"Yeah, no kidding," Elizabeth mumbles.

It's a beautiful sandstone building, proudly towering over the rest of the houses in the street. I don't like the fact that we have to go in with our suitcases, but Susanna assures me she knows the back entrance's location, so we try to look inconspicuous as we casually walk around the building to the back and walk through an unlocked door that says _private_. __

_ _To my great surprise we're welcomed by a nun. She smiles warmly and opens her arms when she sees us struggling with our suitcases as we walk up a small flight of marble stairs. "Welcome, van Helsing sisters," she says. "I trust you've had a good journey?"_ _

_ _"Apart from a thirteen-hour transit, we're fine," Elizabeth says dryly. She frowns. "Wait. You're a nun."_ _

_ _I groan. "Yes, well-observed, miss Marple."_ _

_ _"Shut up. I mean, aren't nuns supposed to live in, what, monasteries?"_ _

_ _ "I think that's monks."_ _

_ _The nun laughs, a lovely, melodic sound. "Normally I do live more secluded. But I've been tasked with arranging any supernatural business within our church district."_ _

_ _Susanna gives Elizabeth and I a death stare and steps forward to shake the nun's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, sister...?"_ _

_ _"Sister Winfrey." _ _

_ _Elizabeth gasps. "Like Oprah?"_ _

_ _"Please stop talking," I mumble._ _

_ _Sister Winfrey smiles. "Yes, miss Elizabeth, like Oprah, though I'm sad to say we're not related."_ _

_ _"Please excuse my youngest sister," Susanna intercepts. "She didn't get enough attention as a child. Thank you for welcoming us. I was wondering, which hunter family operates in New Orleans?"_ _

_ _"The Silverchase family. They take care of the entire state. I'm sure they'll want to welcome you personally, as well." Sister Winfrey smiles again. She seems much too soft and kind to have to deal with this supernatural hunter business. "For now, I'll show you to the weapons room."_ _

_ _All over the world there are churches, synagogues, mosques and all other kinds of temples that have been made superficially aware of the dark creatures that lurk in the shadows at night. For the convenience of every hunter, all these buildings have a weapons stash each hunter is allowed to use when necessary. It's a great way to ensure nobody ever goes without a way to defend themselves. This particular church in New Orleans is no exception. Sister Winfrey opens a small wooden back door and allows us to choose from a large variety of axes, stake guns, knives, machetes, normal stakes and vials of vervain-infused water. We thank her profusely, pack the weapons in our suitcases and catch a cab outside to bring us to Elizabeth and Susanna's hotel._ _

_ _"This is close to where Diana lives," I note as I throw my suitcase on the queen-size bed Elizabeth will be sleeping in._ _

_ _Susanna nods. "I know. That's why I booked it. Have you heard from miss Jean, Lizzy?"_ _

_ _"Not yet."_ _

_ _"Wait, wait." I shake my head. "Time-out. You have contact with her landlady?"_ _

_ _"I know her landlady," Susanna says calmly. "I asked her to keep an eye out. Why do you think Diana got a room so quickly all of the sudden? Besides, this will be safer. We'll know if Diana is... you know, caught up in something."_ _

_ _"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this," I say curtly. "It feels a bit... stalkery."_ _

_ _Susanna shrugs. "If it means Diana is safe."_ _

_ _Well, I do care about her safety. And yet... It just doesn't feel right. Diana is entitled to her own life. And I prefer that life to last long and to be a happy one, but it can't be at the cost of her own privacy. Then again, it's not like they hung cameras in her room. I hope._ _

_ _"Well, has she told you anything useful?" I ask with a sigh._ _

_ _Elizabeth nods. "Yes. Apparently Diana works in a bar called _The Tarot Card_. Apart from its wonderfully tacky name, the bar is known for being a meeting place for supernatural creatures. A sort of neutral ground for everyone to discuss what goes in in New Orleans. You know, witches, werewolves, vampires."_ _

_ _"So if it's a neutral ground that means she's safe," I argue._ _

_ _Susanna purses her lips. "Not so sure. Not everyone always honours the rules."_ _

_ _"She'll be fine," I say with confidence. "She knows how to take care of herself and she isn't stupid. I'll go by as soon as you two are done settling here and you'll see, we have nothing to worry about."_ _

_ _To my great relief they drop the discussion we've had so many times already. I know New Orleans isn't the safest city, but Diana is tough. I say goodbye to my sisters and pull my suitcase across the street to find Diana's house. It's only a fifteen-minute walk, which can give me time to clear my head. People in the streets seem kind enough and they smile often but I can't deny I'm happy I have some weapons in my bag. _ _

_ _Miss Jean opens the door. She laughs and smiles and embraces me warmly, like a distant aunt. She asks me about a hundred times if I've had a good flight and if I want something to drink as we move upstairs in an excruciatingly slow pace. She warns me that Diana had a long shift the night before and is probably a bit sleepy, gives me one last hug and leaves me in front of the apartment door, humming some pagan-sounding song to herself. I laugh softly and knock on the door. It could go with a new coat of paint._ _

_ _A bit of stumbling behind the door and it opens. "Morning," Diana says groggily._ _

_ _I giggle. "It's the afternoon, hon. You had a good night's rest?"_ _

_ _"Not really. Come in. Coffee? I know I could use some."_ _

_ _"How about a hug, first?"_ _

_ _She laughs through her exhaustion and wraps her arms around me. I smile and tighten my grip, glad to have her close again. She still smells the same. Strange thing to note, but she always wears the same perfume. Despite my protests she takes my suitcase from me and parks it in a corner somewhere, where chances are smaller we'll trip over it. The apartment is tiny, but cosy. I sit down on the couch as she makes coffee in the kitchen._ _

_ _"How as your work yesterday?" I ask._ _

_ _"Uneventful." She steps over the threshold with two mismatched mugs of steaming hot coffee. "Just like the night before, and the night before."_ _

_ _Good. So no supernatural bar fights._ _

_ _"Any translating work around?"_ _

_ _She shakes her head. "No. I've been looking, but... it's hard. I don't know my way around just yet."_ _

_ _"Understandable. I'm sure you'll be fine."_ _

_ _She smiles and sits down next to me. She really does look tired - bags under her slightly bloodshot eyes, hair that hangs a bit limper, worry lines etched into her much too young face. Moving is always hard._ _

_ _"Well, how do you find New Orleans?"_ _

_ _"Hot."_ _

_ _We laugh. She bends to the side to pick a biscuit out of the tin on the coffee table and as she stretches, I notice something. A bandage on her neck, square and sloppily stuck to her skin with cheap band-aids. It looks fresh. A slow feeling of creeping dread starts to move through my limbs. _ _

_ _"Diana," I say, keeping my tone as casual as possible. "Did you hurt yourself?"_ _

_ _"Hm?"_ _

_ _"Your neck."_ _

_ _"Oh." Her hand moves towards the bandage almost automatically and she frowns. "Uh... I... yes. I think so. Long nights. Sometimes I'll wake up with bruises I didn't even know I had."_ _

_ _She seems a bit out of it. Her eyes almost seem to fog over._ _

_ _"Do you remember what happened?"_ _

_ _She laughs airily. "Not really. Do you want a biscuit?"_ _

_ _Classic sign of having been compelled. Somebody bit her. Somebody broke the rules. I'm not a violent person, which is strange given my profession, but this... this does make me angry. I can't imagine a reason why anybody would ever want to hurt Diana. She's sweet, she's funny, she's harmless. Which perhaps makes her the perfect prey for any vampire._ _

_ _"Don't you remember anything from that night."_ _

_ _Her face melts into an annoyed mask and she puts the tin down with a loud _bang_. "Look, I don't remember much, okay? That's normal. I'm very tired. It doesn't even hurt that much anymore. I'm fine, Jessica, really."_ _

_ _"Alright," I say quickly. "I'm sorry."_ _

_ _She seems to calm down and smiles. "Great. Now do you want a biscuit or not?"_ _

_ _"Please."_ _

_ _We end up talking casually again, laugh and joke and gossip, but I'm often distracted by the white bandage on her neck. Someone hurt her. Perhaps moving to New Orleans wasn't the best idea, after all. I have to find whoever did this - I have to warn them to back off. They have to know she's protected by three of the most famous and powerful hunters in the world._ _

_ _I do hate it when my sisters are right._ _


	5. 5. A Party Invitation

_Diana_

Having Jessica around is great. Though my couch is so awful that she has to give up and book a hotel room after only two nights, something I can't really blame her for. Even I prefer sitting on the floor. 

"Your kitchen is dramatically understocked," Jessica notes. She's rummaging through the cupboards like a concerned mother. "What's this?"

She holds the wooden bowl of herbs in her hands. I haven't used them since miss Jean gave them to me, but for some reason I also can't bring myself to throwing them away. 

I shrug. "My landlady gave them to me. I think it's vervain."

"Oh, I know vervain." She tentatively picks up one of the dried green leaves. "It's very good for, er... your health. You should use them. They make a pretty good tea. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I'm good."

She seems disappointed. Then she takes a little package wrapped in brown paper from her jacket pocket and opens it. It contains a gorgeous simple silver locket, probably meant to hold pictures of loved ones.

"I got you this at an antique shop," she explains.

"You shouldn't have, Jess."

She shakes her head. "Don't be ridiculous. You're allowed to have nice things. I thought perhaps you could put some vervain in it."

Well, that confuses me.

"Okay. Why, exactly?"

She laughs. "It's a herb known for its positive qualities. It represents, er, protection. And... strength. I thought perhaps you could use that in a new city."

"I never took you to be a spiritual person."

Jessica laughs, almost nervously, and opens the locket to shove some dried herbs into it. "It's a nice gesture. Just accept it, you idiot."

So that night at my work I'm wearing the necklace. It's a pretty thing, so I'm just glad to have it, and I know it makes Jessica happy. Still, it's strange. She's never been superstitious before. Maybe her sisters are rubbing off on her. And yet... for some reason I pour drinks and talk to the customers with a bit more ease.

"What happened to your neck?"

I nearly bang my head against the bar as I rise to see who is talking to me. Ayla stands before the bar, arms crossed, a frown playing around on her brow. 

"Oh, just a dumb little accident," I say with a kind smile. "Would you like anything to drink, Ayla?"

"What happened exactly?" She asks. "Did someone hurt you?"

I sigh. "Why is everyone so obsessed with one little wound? I'm fine. Would you like a Famous Grouse again?"

She nods, but doesn't seem to feel any calmer as she sits down at a nearby table. If she's here I'm sure Klaus can't be far away. I can't say I'm looking forward to seeing him again with full conviction. He confuses me. The thought of him sends a strange, panicked jolt through my body, something I can't explain. When I try to think about it my head hurts. I bring Ayla her drink and try not to watch the door.

As soon as I feel the air shift again I make a point of not looking at the door and only turn around when I hear chairs move. Sure enough there he is, sitting down across Ayla with that ever-present smirk, like he's extremely pleased with himself. It both amuses and frustrates me to no end.

I walk to the table with my try and attempt a forced smile. "Evening."

"Lovely to see you again, love. Did you hurt yourself?"

I sigh. "Yes. It's nothing, as I keep telling everyone."

Ayla is staring at him with burning fury. Her hands grasp the table until her fingers turn white. What is she so worked up about? If she hates talking to him so much there's no reason she couldn't just stay away.

"What would you like to drink?"

He smiles. "No surprise this time?"

"I don't think you can handle another cocktail."

A short laugh this time. "Well, in that case, any bourbon is fine."

As soon as I turn my back I hear Ayla snapping at him in hissed, angry tones. If they ever start fighting physically it wouldn't surprise me all that much. I bring him his drink and let them fight in peace. The rest of the night passes quickly - I spend most of it talking to some regulars, two lovely older ladies who seem to have travelled the world together. They're lovely. It makes me sad when they leave, ten minutes before closing time. The only people left so late are Klaus and Ayla, still snarling at each other like Tasmanian Devils. 

Ayla gets up first, spitting out a final, biting comment and then storms out without as much as a goodbye to me. I'm not too bothered by it. She seems to have other things on my mind. Klaus sighs deeply and leans back in his chair, exhausted all of the sudden. I carefully move closer, against my better judgement.

"You look like you could use another drink," I say softly. "Pity we close in about five minutes."

He smiles wryly. "Wonderful powers of observation."

I look at the table where my bosses occasionally sit. No one. The key for closing up lies on the bar, really open for anyone to steal it. 

"Well," I say slowly, "my employers are asleep already. Would you like another bourbon?"

He's had several already, but he seems to be handling it well. Besides, I'm not against a drink myself.

"If you're offering."

I bring over the bottle and two glasses and sit down, heart beating fast. I'm afraid he'll send me away or think this strange. To my great relief he doesn't say anything as I sit down, too, and pour us both a drink.

"Cheers."

"Cheers," he echoes, and takes his first sip. "So, how are you enjoying New Orleans?"

I shrug. "Well enough. The city has a nice vibe, but... I do miss home."

"Do you miss your friends from home?"

"Well, yes." I take a sip and enjoy the subtle burn of the liquor. "But it helps one of them came over to visit me. She's here right now."

"And you're working?"

I laugh. "Well, I have to. But she is mature enough to enjoy herself without me. It's good to see her, anyway."

He studies me in a way that makes me feel both flattered and uncomfortable. "You work too much," he decides. "Come with me tonight. I know a party that is just about ready to get started."

"I will say my mother warned me against strangers who want to take me to sketchy parties late at night."

He laughs and moves a bit closer to me, not losing eye contact. "You've met me before. It's a very sophisticated party, really. Why don't you bring your friends? You can't go to New Orleans without experiencing some of its nightlife."

I will admit I've missed going out a little. And if Jessica is there... it should be safe. Still I'm not so sure.

"I'm not convinced I can go to a sophisticated party in my pub t-shirt."

He chuckles. "It's not _that_ sophisticated. And I can assure you, darling, you look lovely. Come with me. It will be fun. I promise."

Well, I'm still young. Now _is_ the time to be making horrible decisions. Or at least, that's what the internet tells me. 

"Well, fine. I'll text Jessica if she wants to come, too. Do you have an address?"

A few minutes later I'm in a cab, extremely nervous and fidgeting with the hem of my shirt more than is healthy. I found a clean work shirt in the back and even some deodorant, so I don't smell like alcohol anymore, but that's the only positive thing I can really say about my physical appearance right now. 

Klaus notices me fussing and covers my hands with his. "Don't worry so much. You look wonderful, love. Besides, your eyes are striking enough to distract from whatever you believe to be wrong with your outfit."

I laugh. My cheeks heat up quicker than I want them to. "Well, thank you, you're not so bad yourself."

He looks immaculate and yet, his outfit is simple. A deep navy v-neck, black jeans, brown leather loafers and a leather cord necklace. I feel like a homeless person compared to him, but he doesn't seem to be bothered all that much.

"Is your friend coming?" he asks casually.

I check my phone again. "Uh, still nothing. She might be asleep."

"Pity." He runs his finger across the bridge of my hand. "We'll just have to manage without her for now."

For the rest of the cab ride he asks my about London. Who my friends were, what their lives were like. He seems to focus a lot on Jessica. It's strange. He's never met her before in his life and he still seems to be extremely interested in her. I'm almost starting to wonder if I should introduce them. I'm relieved when we make it to the party. It's in a club - thank god, not some stranger's house - which looks expensive and exclusive. Yet they let Klaus and I pass without any trouble. The bouncer even nods at him with some sort of reverence or respect.

"I know some people," he explains, and links his arm through mine. "Shall we?"


	6. 6. A Feast For Vampires

_Diana_

Everybody at the party is beautiful. Everybody at the party also seem to be more or less paired up, like a strange couple's dance. Psychedelic slow club music zooms and moans in the distance, as if trying to get everyone at the party in a trance. It seems to be working - some of the guests stare around dazed and confused, with a distracted smile playing at their lips. Could be drugs, of course. I hope nobody offers me some. I unconsciously tighten my grip on Klaus's arm.

"What is this party?"

He smiles. "It's very underground. Exclusive. Don't worry, I know many people here. With me you're safe."

"That doesn't really make me feel better."

"Just stick with me, darling, and you'll be fine. Do you want a drink?"

"Christ, yes."

The way he talks makes this party sound almost... sinister. Some of the couples are a bit strange, I suppose. One person in each couple always seems to grab the other a bit possessively. The dance floor is a slow mass of bodies, skin touching skin and skin and lips and soft, caressing fingers, sweat making everybody's clothes cling tight to their body. I'm not completely sure I want to be dancing there. Luckily Klaus drags me to the bar first, which is much cleaner and much more high-class than the bar Cammi and I work.

"Two bourbons, please," Klaus tells the barmaid, a tall brunette with enormous doe eyes. 

I loosen my grip a bit. "I can order for myself, you know."

"Oh, well..." He softly brushes my cheek and it feels like a soft electrical shock. "I apologise, love. Why don't you order next time?"

"Fine," I mumble. "Just don't patronise me."

He winks. "I wouldn't dare."

I observe the barmaid for a bit to take my mind off things. She's gorgeous. She doesn't have to wear a baggy work shirt - instead she wears a low-cut tank top made out of some sort of silky material, a bit of lace poorly covering up her cleavage. It shows off her many tattoos. She has one of the Addams family house, a few spiders crawling about her left shoulder, a meticulously detailed snake coiling around her right arm. Her left wrist tattoo confuses me a bit, though. It's not a particularly pretty one and it's not even done in black ink. I think it's a burn at first, but turns out it's a faded red spot with a dark red eye in the middle. Why would you get a tattoo of that? It looks like somebody has branded her.

"Two bourbons, there you go," she says in a bored, drawling voice. Then she leaves for the next customer.

I blink rapidly in surprise. "Don't we have to pay?"

"I don't," Klaus says with a slight smile. "Cheers, my dear."

We drink for a bit. I feverishly hold onto the bar, afraid that any given beautiful person will suddenly grab me and drag me to the dance floor in this strange erotic mass-dance. If this night turns into an orgy I'm running. Perhaps this was a bad idea, after all. But for now I can try to enjoy it - perhaps get to know Klaus a bit better. He is a strange person, but fascinating nevertheless. 

"Can I ask," I begin slowly, "you and Ayla..."

He raises one blond eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Well, you two don't seem to like each other. I actually think you hate each other. Why do you keep coming to _The Tarot Card_? Neither of you really seem to enjoy it."

He smiles wryly. "Ayla and I have a... complicated history. A complicated present, too, if I'm being honest."

"How come?"

He taps the edge of his glass as he thinks about my question. "Well," he eventually says, "let's just say both our families have reason to dislike each other very, very much. Reasons that sort of go back to the dawn of time."

"Like in _Romeo and Julliet_," I offer.

"Sort of," he says with a short laugh. "But very different. A bit more violent. Ayla and I recognise that our respective families would benefit from some sort of an agreement, but it's more complicated than it sounds. Especially since we each have our parts of the city we're supposed to stick to, and not everybody complies to those rules."

I frown. "Sounds a bit mafia-ish."

"That's one way to put it." He drains his drink and grabs my hand. "Let's dance."

I eye the dance floor again. One couple, two equally gorgeous women, are each wearing significantly less than when I looked before. "Right. Well, the thing is, I'm not so sure about that."

Klaus surprises me by suddenly wrapping one arm around my waist with surprising care and lifting me off my stool like I'm as light as a feather. When he lifts me down my toes hardly touch the ground. Our shoulders and hips press together like they're conjoined and I feel a blush creeping to my cheeks again.

"Nothing can happen," he says in a seductive whisper, "as long as you're with me. Trust me."

"I don't even know you," I breathe softly.

He brushes some hair behind my ear and cups my chin, lifting my head up as if we're about to kiss. "You will," he mutters. "Now come. I promise nobody on that floor will touch you." He tightens his grip on my waist and I move closer to him again. Something about this feels strangely familiar, yet I can't figure out why. "Except for me."

I laugh softly and lay my hand on the one still gripping my waist. "Alright, then. But I do feel underdressed."

"You worry too much, love. You look ravishing."

And with those both intoxicating and sinister words he lets go of my chin and starts pulling me towards the dance floor. My heart beats fast and I avoid all eye contact with the other guests, who honestly seem much too busy anyway. Is this some strange kind of couple's club? What I do notice is another man with the exact same tattoo as the doe-eyed barmaid had. Perhaps they're in a relationship and they got couple's tattoos? Still, why choose one that looks like a burn mark?

"I'm not a great dancer," I warn him when he carefully places me in the right position.

The music is intoxicating, a low and psychedelic hum. Nothing suitable for waltzing like in those terrible romance novels I secretly enjoy once in a while. Some other guests twirl around, waving their hands in the air like touching phantom harp strings. Someone must have been handing out drugs. They dance with their eyes closed, a dazed smile tugging at their lips. 

"You don't have to be," he says calmly. "Just follow my lead."

We end up in a surprisingly elegant sort of slow shuffle, pressed closely together and faces curved into each other like the yin-yang symbol. It occurs to me I could kiss him, though I'm not sure I want to. It would make things so awkward at work. Is that what is expected of me? Dating has never been my forte, and one-night-stands are a foreign concept to me. Is it a connection I feel between us, or is it imaginary? I'm not so sure. Every time my cheek brushes his sharp jaw electricity tingles across my skin, telling me to either keep dancing or run away and hide where he can't find me. My heartbeat is fast. Excitement or fear? I've never felt this removed from my own body before, like it recalls something my mind doesn't.

"Did you know," he suddenly says so softly I can hardly understand him over the music, "that I believe I might know your friend Jessica?"

I nearly step on his feet. "What? You're kidding."

He shakes his head, the muted club lights spilling over his skin like coloured wine. "I assure you I'm not, love. If she is who I think she is I would like to see her."

This night is not going the way I had expected. "Well," I say more crabbily than I had intended, "perhaps you should have invited her, then."

He laughs. "Don't get me wrong, dear, I love being here with you. Don't you?"

"What?"

"Love being here."

I look around again. The dance is becoming more intense around us, people pressed together as if they hope they might melt into one single person. 

"It's... interesting."

When I turn back to continue our conversation he shuts me up by surprising me, bending forward to place his lips against my neck. I freeze and I melt; I want to flee and I want to wrap my arms around his waist and tell him to keep going. This inexplicable déja-vu is really putting a damper on my evening. I tighten my grip on his arms and attempt to say something, but nothing comes out.

Just as I am about to relax, just as I have accepted this night might turn out to be more pleasurable than I had hoped, I see something - a rapture through the crowd, a soft gasp and yelp. A girl younger than I am - petite, blonde and profoundly naive. The woman with her has grasped her much too tightly and is literally _biting_ her. Blood is running down her neck and staining her shirt. She seems terrified. 

That particular assault seems to be the sign for many other couples and suddenly the air rings with screams, yells and cries, drowning out the music and drilling through my head. I try to pull back from Klaus's embrace and slap his arm to get his attention.

"Look! We have to- call the police- leave- we have to get out of here, and then call the police!"

Strangely, he seems completely unfazed. Absolutely calm, in fact. He doesn't let me go; he just smiles in a way I can only describe as deeply malicious, and that horrible creeping feeling snakes its way back up my spine. "No, darling, we don't."

I freeze. "Let me go."

"Not yet."

"Excuse me?"

Dark, brownish-red veins bloom across his cheeks from his eyes and his eyes become dark as night, creepy as a child's unbridled horror. Razor-sharp white fangs grow where only moments before normal teeth sat. Panic envelops me and I start struggling like many other men and women around me, and an embarrassingly high-pitched scream escapes my throat. He just laughs. This can't be real, and yet it feels like I have seen it before, like it's right. Like I was a fool to come here.

"No-"

Pain ruptures through me; it feels like my soul is torn from my body, my veins are on fire. I hear a scream that might be mine, but it's hard to tell through the ringing in my ears. Even if I try to pull loose his embrace is like an iron cage and I can't move; the world is spinning around me. I can't make sense of what is happening - I can't think, I can't speak, I can only feel. I can hurt. I distantly progress that vampires might be real, judging by the large amount of fangs that have sprouted around me, the blood leaking down people's chins and dresses. This entire party was some sort of sadistic hunt. A feast for vampires.

_"Stop!"_

To my surprise he actually pulls back, mouth sticky with my blood, _my_ blood. His smile is no longer charming or seductive - it's pure malice, it's fear-inducing and cruel. 

"I'm sorry, love," he purrs softly, still refusing to let me go. "But if your friend is who I think she is you might have much more value than a simple barmaid."

"What the hell are you-"

"You will see soon enough." One hand cups my chin and he pulls me closer as if he wants to kiss me. "We'll have fun, you and I. I do apologise for this all, darling - you just smell _delicious."_

And he strikes again, sending a fresh wave of pain through my neck which burns through my body like poison. I don't know if it's because of shock or fear but black spots start dancing in front of my vision. Before I know it I feint, and the world turns black.


	7. 7. The Mikaelson Estate

_Diana_

When I wake up my neck still burns. It's a familiar feeling, though the previous time I felt it I was much calmer. I remember, suddenly, waking up only recently with this same after-burn. I've been bitten before. Why can't I remember?

I blink against the light and find myself lying on a luxurious red sofa. In front of me stands a glass coffee table with a few red spots on it, spots I believe to be my own blood. It's a surprisingly lovely and bright place, furnished both in a modern and classic fashion. Big, generational wooden tables, chests and chairs, but modern amenities and expensive-looking new glass vases and ornaments everywhere. One table is covered in piles and piles of ancient volumes, another table has a brand-new computer on it. This mix of old and new is perhaps to be expected of a vampire.

A vampire.

A new wave of panic engulfs me and I sit up as if I've been stung by a bee. A vampire. Klaus is a real-life-god-damn-bloody-dangerous vampire, and a sneaky and sadistic one at that. I'm alone in this room but my gut tells me he can't be far away. What are vampires capable of? Is he quicker than me, stronger than me, does he turn into a bat? Something tells me it would be a bad idea to actually ask him all of those questions. He has to be okay with sunlight, since sunlight is currently spilling through pane glass windows, staining the carpeted floor in colourful spots. 

I have to get out of here.

I see a door. It's closed, but is it locked? Carefully, trying to make as little sound as possible, I get up and softly walk towards the door. My limbs groan and ache as if I've run a marathon. Well, I've never ran a marathon because I'm not a sadist, but this is what I imagine putting my body through running 42 kilometers feels like the morning after.

It's locked. Of-fucking-course.

When I turn around to find another way out Klaus is standing right in front of me. I yell like a classic Hollywood damsel and press myself against the locked door, heart beating out of my chest. I hadn't heard him walk my way. Did he bloody teleport? Can vampires teleport?

"I'm not that foolish, love." He smiles. "The windows are locked, too."

"I could throw one in," I say. Why do I say that?

"A direct approach. I like it."

He grabs my arm and roughly pulls me away from the door, dragging me back towards the bloodied sofa despite my protests. Not all of those blood stains are mine - I have the feeling many a victim found their demise here. I don't want to die. I can't. New Orleans was supposed to be my new start. How did this happen?

Klaus throws me back on the sofa and sits down next to me, blocking my way out. He is still holding onto my arm. I feel as if it might bruise if he doesn't loosen his bloody vice grip soon.

"Why am I here?" I ask as confidently as possible.

"Because I wanted you to be." He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear - I slap his hand away, which only makes him smile. 

"Let me go home."

He laughs. "You only just got here! No, we shall have a fine time. Besides, I need you here. There are many things at play in New Orleans you know very little about."

If I had both of my arms free I would have crossed them. "Well, bloody explain it to me, then. I have the right to know. You kidnapped me and I sure as hell would like to know why."

Before he can actually start to explain - which I damn hope he was about to - he is interrupted by the arrival of somebody else. A man in a perfectly tailored dark grey suit. Dark hair and a strong jaw, eyes as intense as Klaus's but a different colour. He seems calm, sophisticated. In control. Cheekbones that are sharp, but not as protruding as Klaus's, and a tendency to narrow his eyes when he is observing. His presence breathes an air, a mood, a vibe similar to the one that comes from Klaus. Air that thickens and the idea of hundreds of years of wisdom; a rope about to snap, a net that has been woven for ages that can snag you up like a spider would. I feel even less safe than before. Still, this man seems significantly more balanced.

"Niklaus," he says calmly, the way a school-teacher might. "What is the meaning of this?"

Klaus - Niklaus? - laughs and gestures to me. "A surprise, Elijah. Why don't you join me? It's been ages since we shared a drink."

I know I'm paling - I know my eyes grow large like silver coins. I can't help it. I wish I were braver, but this... this is too much.

The man who is evidently named Elijah doesn't move. His scientist's gaze moves towards me and he studies me as if I am a butterfly pinned to a table. I feel just as helpless.

"I'll pass," he says coolly. "Do try not to get blood on the carpet. It never comes out."

It baffles me how casual one can be about violence. Perhaps he is old - perhaps he has seen too much and it has numbed him to horrific events. I can't say I feel the same and am still desperately trying to wrestle my way away from Klaus and his sharp teeth.

"This isn't just anyone, brother," Klaus says with a strangely proud smile. "Diana Stoker. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Brother? They don't look much alike. Elijah shakes his head, but is slowly moving closer, still studying me with the same intensity. 

"She is fast friends with one Jessica (LAST NAME), I heard. We know her as Jessica van Helsing."

_Excuse me?_

"Excuse me?" Elijah stops dead in his tracks and his gaze snaps back to his brother, anger seeping through. "Have you finally lost your mind, Niklaus? Why on earth would you willingly challenge the most dangerous hunter's family on earth?"

"Jessica's not-" I stop talking when I realise I really don't know much about Jess. And there are apparently many other things in the world I knew nothing about. "I mean... is she?"

Elijah looks at me with something I could almost call pity.

"She is," Klaus answers. "And you... she cares about you."

"Which is why, brother, we need to get her back with our sincerest apologies," Elijah says sharply. "Things were just calming down around here."

"Things never calm down in New Orleans. Why do you think the van Helsings are here?"

"Jessica came to visit me," I pipe up.

Klaus chuckles. "Well, she did think it necessary to bring her two infernal sisters. They are up to something."

"They're not."

I say it with such confidence, but the truth is I don't know. If didn't even know Susanna and Elizabeth were here, too. Though in hindsight their cryptic worries now suddenly make sense - they knew about the dangers here, and I walked right into them. But how was I supposed to know? Nobody would tell me directly, and even if they had I wouldn't have believed them.

"Well, even if they're not, you can never be too sure." Klaus smiles at me, which does nothing to comfort me. "In the meantime I merely have the pleasure to enjoy your lovely company."

He places one finger under my chin and pushes it up so I have to look at him. His striking eyes, so cold and cruel, what have they seen? I suddenly understand why the very air feels ancient around him. I wonder how old he is - how old he _really_ is. He takes my phone out his pocket and dangles it in front of my face. I resist to urge to try and snatch it as if I am a cat.

"I'm sorry to say you have to contact your work," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "Make up an excuse. You'll be gone a while."

"How long is a while?" My voice trembles too much for me to sound brave.

He smiles. "For as long as I still enjoy you."

"So," I say as I grab my phone and start texting my boss, "if I want to get out of here I should just be incredibly annoying."

Elijah snorts. Klaus, on the other hand, does not look amused. "You could." He sounds low, dangerous. I regret my words immediately. "I could always just kill you, then."

My skin suddenly feels like a thin layer of frost has formed over it. I don't respond, afraid my voice will give away my fear, and hand back the phone. When our fingers brush I all of the sudden realise how cold he really is. He truly is dead. Part of me still hopes I might wake up soon from a strange, horrid lucid dream, but nothing happens. I hand him the phone back without looking at him - I might start screaming.

Elijah crosses his arms. "This might be the worst idea you've had yet, brother. It's almost as if you're looking to get killed."

"I can't be killed. None of us can."

"We don't know what the van Helsings are capable of. Don't challenge them. This is reckless even for you, Niklaus."

He sighs. "We need leverage over them. I despise being in the unfavourable position, brother, you know that as well as I do. Their one weakness came to New Orleans before they did - that can't be a coincidence. So we'll keep her here until they leave."

"And what if they don't leave?"

Klaus laughs shortly. "Well, then, we'd have a new pet. Don't worry so much, Elijah. I have everything under control. Besides, this might work in our favour during this whole ordeal with the witches."

"Witches?" I blurt out.

"Creatures of the night come in all kinds of flavours," says Klaus. He lets go of my arm - finally - but snakes his arm around my waist, which is decidedly less pleasant than our previous position. "Vampires, witches, werewolves... New Orleans runs rampant with them."

I sigh. "That explains why nobody wanted me to come here."

"If only you'd listened," says Elijah crabbily. "Then we wouldn't be in this situation. How will she help us with the witches? I fail to see the logic here."

Klaus's smile reminds me of a fox, cunning and scheming. Seeing his teeth sends a spell of phantom pressure through my neck. The puncture wounds still feel horridly fresh - I wonder if they're still bleeding. I've been too afraid to check. "You see, Elijah, you never know what the van Helsings will do in order to get their friend back, or to prevent her from being hurt quite badly."

"You plan to blackmail them," Elijah states mumbly.

"In a sense."

"This is madness."

"Relax, brother." He momentarily caresses my cheek, and I stretch my neck to turn my head as far away from his icy touch as possible. "I have a card up my sleeve. If they come for us I can always Mark her."

Mark seems to come with a capital 'M'. Elijah raises his eyebrows at Klaus, obviously still not convinced. They're family all right. This fighting and bickering echoes the continuous loving arguments between Susanna, Jessica and Elizabeth. I wonder if they might be coming for me soon. I'm not sure I want them to. Then again, can I find a way out myself?

"Marking is risky business," Elijah says with an exasperated sigh. "It's too recent. There is too little known about it."

"I think it sounds quite easy, actually, Elijah. A vampire Marks his prey and a permanent link is formed. The victim will always have enough blood for the vampire who has marked them, and no other vampire will ever attack the Marked human again. And more importantly; if the vampire dies, so does the Marked human. Do you really think the van Helsing sisters will kill me if it kills their beloved friend?"

"As you're so fond of saying, killing is not the worst that can happen to someone."

Klaus shrugs. "It is to me. You worry too much, Elijah. Everything will be absolutely fine."

Still his brother shakes his head. "I'm not convinced. Do as you wish with her, brother, but I want no part in it. Rebekkah will be back in New Orleans soon and we'll be busy enough with that."

Klaus groans. "Bloody hell. I'd forgotten. Well, perhaps our dear sister will cause enough trouble for the van Helsings to just give up on this damned city."

"I doubt it," says Elijah somewhat drily.

Then he's gone. It's like he's teleported - all I see is a smudge of charcoal grey and his absence is felt. So vampires do move incredibly fast. Great - that means that running is out of the picture. And by 'great' I mean 'terrible'. I hope that Klaus will follow his brother and let me be but he doesn't move. He just tightens his grip on my waist and sighs.

"My brother has always had difficulty seeing what I see," he says as if he is confiding in me, just a normal day in a bar. "He can't see your value, love."

I try to pull away. "If you really 'valued' me you would respect my bloody personal freedom and let me go."

He laughs, a wicked, cruel thing. "I'm afraid that is not an option, my dear. You are much too valuable to me. How's that neck?"

"It hurts," I snap.

"You'll get used to it."

"I shouldn't have to."

"I know." He suddenly leans in close and his lips brush my neck close to where the bite marks are. I freeze, paralysed with fear. "But you might have no choice."

This time I don't respond. I feel myself trembling, a personal little earthquake. Klaus isn't bothered. He just groans under his breath when he catches my scent again and sighs against my neck. His breath dances across my skin like a tundra breeze.

"If only I could mark you already. You would heal much sooner and your blood levels would reset more easily, and I could drink much quicker. But you're no use to me dead."

Finally, _finally_ he pulls away a bit and lets go of me. I immediately move away and press myself against the furthest end of the couch. Luckily for me he doesn't seem inclined to pounce any time soon. Instead he gets up and stretches as if he has just been through something quite tiresome. To me on the other hand this whole ordeal is taking years off my life - I have never had this much adrenaline pumping through my body. It's both horrible and a tiny bit exciting.

"Get some rest, my pet." He smiles at me without kindness. "You have a big role to play."

And just like his brother he is gone in a second, a smudge across my vision which only leaves behind the absence of a threat. I can breathe more easily. Yet only barely, because I am still locked up in the Mikaelson estate, and I have nowhere to go. Despite my better judgement and Klaus's warnings I try the doors and the windows but everything is locked. There is a bathroom and I can sleep on the couch so I don't have to miss anything crucial, yet I'd prefer life in the bloody woods to this locked up life in relative luxury.

I'm in mortal danger. And utterly, utterly alone.


End file.
